The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Five

Part of the job of a reporter is to keep up with what is happening. This meant local, regional, national and global. Whether something local - especially in the world's greatest city - would affect global matters or vice-versa was not always predictable. Therefore, The New York Glory subscribed to multiple wire services, both by teletype for the stream and online for looking up more information. As well, all the reporters and editors at the paper were expected to keep up both with what their own reporters were working on, and to have ties with the employees of other news services. Just now, Melody Gundersen was skimming international news on her office computer terminal. One specific item caught her attention, and warranted reading in detail.

The announcements about the progress being made at yet another Middle Eastern peace negotiation were not all that surprising. These things were usually preceded by hopeful promotion, and accompanied by optimistic progress reports, until they broke up with - at best - not having made things worse. This time, though, there actually seemed to be constructive negotiations underway.

Melody realized the likely reason why when she found, buried deep in a long list of names, mention of Aaron Labelle. He was simply designated "Special Advisor." He wouldn't even have to use his empowered charisma to account for the success of the negotiations. His knowledge of history, philosophy and religion and his ability to speak to each of the participants in their own language would be hugely persuasive without that.

"So that's what he's doing, lately," she murmured, as she read the teletype message. "No wonder he's been too busy to interview about all these sightings of angels."

* * *

Telephones were not allowed in the specially shielded chamber where multiple empowered geniuses worked on the quantum computer project. Recently a protective antechamber had even been installed in the hallway outside the door. Anyone entering or leaving had to close one door before the other would open. People who pointed out that this would slow emergency egress were ignored. There were no emergencies planned, after all. It didn't matter that this throttled way out was a violation of federal, state and local safety laws. The facility didn't officially exist, so there was no reason to follow those.

All communication in or out was by messenger, except the specifically chosen inputs for and outputs of the computer. Even phone messages had to be transcribed and hand carried by Repository staff. Just now, one staff member had entered the special room and was handing a note to CornFed. She read it, scowled, sighed, absently thanked the woman who had delivered it, and told the others she had a phone call.

She went through the mildly complicated procedure needed to leave the shielded room and went to her office.

"Julie! Hi, it's Mike. I have a favor to ask."

"Shoot!" she said, actually glad to hear from the PI.

He explained about the Phantom Zoom.

"Do you think you could use your machine to help find this criminal?"

"You sound like you're taking this personally," said CornFed. She was, as usual, dressed in her stereotypical midwest farm girl outfit of battered straw hat, ragged jeans shorts and a plaid shirt tied snugly under her ample bosom. Also as usual, she seemed completely oblivious to the effect this comfortable and familiar outfit had on those around her. "You said you're off the job. Why keep after him?"

"Of course I'm taking this personally," said Michael Schmierer, neutrally. "I have a reputation to protect. Even if you can only give me clues as to the next target, I can get points by warning them."

"We'll be putting Insight on operational duty, soon," said CornFed, chewing her bottom lip as she thought about the request. "It's just about trained. I'll see if I can ask about this criminal as a real-world exercise."

"Thank you! Give me a call if you get anything useful!"

* * *

The telephone call was for work purposes, but Melody was making it on her home phone. It was either that or stay late at the office, and she didn't think she could justify overtime for a single call. Not yet. If this phone interview yielded important information she'd probably apply for compensation from work. Though, these days, even interstate phone calls were so cheap that filling out the compensation form was hardly worth it.

Melody was very glad when Aaron answered his phone. She knew he was going home every evening after the negotiations he was supervising ended for the day. Previous calls, though, had been answered by his new housekeeper, or his answering machine. If it was Coral, she told Melody each time either that Aaron wasn't home yet - presumably he was either working very late at the negotiations or tending to some emergency - or that he was already asleep. Melody always called his personal line, and not the "work" number for his office in downtown Haven. She definitely would not use the emergency number for something like this. Melody would not tie up either of those lines for her inquiries.

Neither would she leave a request that he call her with Coral or his answering machine. Instead she would leave a message with either that her call was not urgent and that she would just try again later. Aaron and Melody were both busy enough that asking him to call back would likely lead to a session of telephone tag, anyway. Besides, she wanted to speak with Aaron when she was ready. That time was apparently now.

"What's all this about you blocking the harpoons of Japanese whalers?" said Melody, after the ritual greetings were out of the way. "As well as finding and removing ghost nets?"

"That wasn't me."

"The photos look just like you! Well, your angel form. I suppose you don't know anything about that entire small ship full of desperate refugees winding up in a European lake which has no direct ocean access, in a nation which just happens to accept all refugees who make it inside their borders, either."

"I have been very busy with other things lately," said Aaron, calmly. "Important and time consuming things. Unfortunately, I can't talk about them just yet."

Melody knew there was something going on with these "additional" appearances. Something likely involving powers. She was well aware that some empowered could produce duplicates of themselves, but wasn't certain - in fact doubted very much - that was what was happening here. Perhaps these "angels" were projections produced by Insight, the current version of the quantum supercomputer Aaron's group was working on. Which thought for some reason made her feel uneasy.

"Well, whoever these winged figures are, they're doing a lot of good," said the reporter, contradicting her own squeamish thoughts of a moment before. "Rescuing kidnap victims in Mexico, freeing political prisoners in the middle east, performing several types of emergency aid in several parts of the world..."

"That's good to hear," said Aaron, apparently quite sincerely. Melody could imagine him nodding. "The world can use all the help it can get."

"One of them also rescued all the fighting bulls from a Spanish farm which raises them, and set them loose on the Great Plains. The presumably same angel then rescued the bulls at an active bullfighting ring, also releasing them in the same location. Both actions have caused a huge amount of trouble, most of it due to the innate aggressiveness of those bulls."

"Well, they can't all be gems."

Melody figured that was all she was going to get out of him, at least for now. While he was generally an honest person, Aaron knew when to be vague and uninformative. Besides being very good at keeping secrets - his own and those of others - he was also a private person.

She reminded him that even he could use good press exposure for his work and bid him good night. He acknowledged this, and bade her good night in return.

* * *

"We found out who had Walker captured, and why," said Blackpool, when he got home a little later that evening. Even before he took off his mask, Melody could tell he was angry. "It wasn't because of where he'd been. It wasn't because of where he was planning to go. It was because the chief advisor to the President for Life of a totalitarian Eastern European nation told his boss that he'd heard rumors Walker was planning to go there. Which surprised Walker when he heard about this. He usually avoids such places."

"So, what will be done to them, now that this is known?" said Melody, unfolding her legs from where she'd been reclined on the couch, reading a magazine, and sitting up.

"All taken care of. The news hasn't gotten out, yet, but the dictator and his chief advisor are both mysteriously missing."

"Wait, what?!" said Melody, quite startled.

"Oh, it's not my doing," said Blackpool; or, actually, John, now that he had his costume off. "Not my jurisdiction, anyway. I heard from Walker when I visited this afternoon. He got the news himself just an hour or two earlier."

John smiled.

"Oddly, the staff at the clinic say he hasn't had any visitors today, except for me."

"That's doesn't sound like Malak or any of his people," said Melody, frowning. "Though... Did Walker have a name for whoever told him?"

"Nope. Says he didn't recognize the person. Though he and I both suspected at first that Mannequin might be involved. As I've thought about it more, though, I decided probably not. Whatever happened to those two is likely far more serious than Mannequin's normal methods. Still, I'd like to talk to them. Only, they seem to be avoiding me."

"Gee, I wonder why," said Melody, with a smirk.

"Anyway, Walker does have other friends. I suspect some of them arranged the disappearances."

* * *

Mannequin wasn't so much avoiding Blackpool as catching up with what was happening at their favorite haunts. Places all over the US and Canada which were used to seeing the pale, androgynous character were welcoming them back. No-one seemed to know where Mannequin got their money, but they paid cash and were a generous tipper. For example, a sandwich shop not far from where Mannequin spent a mostly unhappy childhood welcomed them back for the first time in weeks.

"Good afternoon, Charles!"

"Hey, Manny! Haven't seen you in a while! You wantin' your regular?"

"Three of them please. I'm feeling rather peckish. I also have a feeling that I'll need them, and soon."

The time was after the lunch rush, so filling the order only took a few minutes. Mannequin paid and dropped a good amount in the tip jar. However, as Mannequin left the sandwich shop with a bag of their favorite gyros, they saw that there was an arch of people waiting outside the door, blocking the way. People who were wearing similar costumes. Costumes which were borderline uniforms.

Mannequin recognized them as The En-Forcers a recently organized attempt by the federal government to create an alternate empowered team who were more under official control than were The Protectorate. This group had been forced on the Marshall's Service, which had provided minimal training, given them their nearly matching outfits and turned them loose. Mainly because the politicians were playing catch-up and wanted quick results.

"Mannequin!" shouted one of them. "You're under arrest! Surrender immediately!"

"Please resist," said Caper, the group's leader, smiling nastily. "Our orders are to capture you dead or alive."

"Okay, I surrender," said Mannequin, rolling their eyes, and noting that no charges were cited. As well as that the whole "dead or alive" thing went out with bad westerns. "Let's go."

"Huh?" said Caper.

There were several snickers, some coming from his teammates.

"Listen, I know arguing with you minions is useless," said Mannequin, tiredly and with a dismissive wave of their hand. "The only way to settle this is for me to talk to your bosses."

"Minions?!" said Caper, outraged.

"Can you change the orders? No? Then you're a minion. Let's. Go."

With witnesses who could testify to Mannequin's willing - even enthusiastic - cooperation, Caper had little choice. No matter how angry and frustrated the perp made him feel. Mannequin was loaded into the Marshall's Service prisoner van, bag of gyros and all. Fortunately to those with them, Mannequin was willing to share.

* * *

At the local federal building Mannequin was told they were not actually under arrest (hence the lack of charges at the scene) they were simply a person of interest. Then they were asked if they would agree to being questioned under lie detector. Mannequin immediately acquiesced.

"There's something wrong," said the lie detector tech, checking connections. "I'm not getting any readings."

"Oh, did you need those?" said Mannequin, innocently. "Sorry."

The instruments suddenly came to life. The tech looked momentarily confused, then shrugged and started the session.

He soon had to stop, because the machine was showing no change in Mannequin's vital signs, even when they were obviously lying.

So, the suits took over. They still interrogated Mannequin, in spite of the failure of the lie detector. The attitude of the questioners at the federal office - a mix of Marshall's Service, FBI and Foreign Intelligence Agency personnel, with members of the N-Forcers standing by outside the room - was that the lie detector was simply a formality; that they expected to be able to tell when Mannequin was being untruthful.

For the most part, Mannequin did tell the truth. When they lied, it was a blatant joke. From the questions, it was obvious the people performing the interrogation weren't actually interested in Mannequin, but wanted information on Malak and some of his crew.

Mannequin knew how to keep secrets. However, the questions weren't about things like the quantum computer research or the relief missions; things which Aaron and his crew considered important. As well as confidential. Neither did they ask questions about private information on the people involved in the work of Aaron's group. Instead the questioners asked about events which had nothing to do with Aaron or his aides. The suits seemed to think that the group was actually behind things like the recent disappearance of several dictators and infamous torturers. As well as a few things for which the involvement of The Protectorate was public knowledge. About those matters Mannequin simply told the truth.

"I don't know anything about that," was said by the subject of the questioning, over and over. Nearly as frequent was, "I only know what I heard on the news about that."

Finally, the group seemed to reach the end of their questions. Or maybe their endurance. They told Mannequin they could go.

"Well, I'm glad I ate my gyros on the trip here," said Mannequin. "You kept me so long I'm actually hungry again! I don't supposed you gentlemen would treat me to dinner for cooperating?"

Mannequin looked around expectantly, with a slight, though charming, smile.

"There's no food allowed in the interrogation room!" said one of the men, already angry that Mannequin couldn't help them. "Didn't you read the sign?!

"Oh, I never read signs," said Mannequin, airily. "They always have eyetracks all over them. Nasty and unsanitary."

They didn't seem to think that was important, and in fact were preparing to leave. Mannequin stood in a dramatic gesture.

"There is one important matter you haven't thought to ask me about," said Mannequin, voice pitched lower than before.

"Oh?" said one of the men, eagerly.

"Did it ever occur to you to wonder," said Mannequin, quietly, leaning in as if about to deliver some great nugget of wisdom, "why the cheese stands alone?"

Mannequin favored them with a wink and a smile and vanished.

* * *

The captain of the fishing boat - holding that position due to the fact that he was the owner and had passed a simple exam - was wearing his usual sour expression as he got out of his battered truck. No matter how much money the boat earned, no matter how well the crew did, he always looked like that. From his expression alone one would think his business was constantly on the verge of bankruptcy. Things weren't nearly that bad, but only because he cut corners. Including legal ones.

For example, when a patrol boat was seen approaching while his boat was illegally not only fishing at night, but in a protected area, he simply ordered the old, repeatedly repaired net cut loose and all lights put out. His boat then motored quietly away. He had, in fact, bought that old net from another boat with the expectation it would have to be cut loose. All the laws against abandoning nets - especially old ones, which did not decay as regulations required new ones to do - were for fools and do-gooders. The Captain was a smart man, by his standards, and knew how to make money. The loss of one old net and a night's illicit catch were negligible compared to the fines if they were caught. Fines he would have to pay at least part of, as owner of the boat. There were plenty more old nets and plenty more nights.

Despite his scowling expression as he walked onto the dock he was so busy congratulating himself for his cleverness that he needed several seconds to parse the scene at his boat. His crew were all standing around, on the dock, staring at the vessel. That they would wait for him without boarding and preparing to get underway was quite unusual, and he was planning to scold them for not having everything ready. However, he suddenly saw what they were staring at.

He took pride in the appearance of his boat. He was careful not to make it too noticeable, with bright paint and lots of chrome, the way some did, mostly in emulation of those boats which took tourists out to fish by line. However, he always wanted it to look clean and with as little weathering as they could manage. That appearance deliberately chosen to help keep the boat from standing out.

It did not look like that now.

In fact, it barely looked like a boat. It was covered with a huge amount of old, soggy net, still burdened with many dead fish.

With a jolt, he realized that this was the net he had cut loose the night before, heedless of how much damage it might do, drifting around loose. The captain/owner dramatically sank to his knees.

He had heard of this happening, to other boats. Why him, though? What had he ever done to earn the wrath of whatever sea gods had done this?

He became vaguely aware of men and women in uniform advancing towards him. He rose to his feet, his expression now finally changed, to one of outraged dignity.

"Excellent! Find out who did this and arrest them! Wait, what are you..."

"We have received evidence of multiple environmental crimes committed by those on this ship. As the captain, you are responsible for the crimes."

"I'm not the captain! I'm the owner! I'm not responsible! Release me and find the real culprit!"

He was taken away, still protesting.